


Conjoined

by teacupsandtime



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Comfort, Fluff, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 06:20:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14665101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teacupsandtime/pseuds/teacupsandtime
Summary: Post-Fall. Hannibal, Will, and the need to touch.





	Conjoined

**Author's Note:**

> Pure fluff inspired partially by Hannibal's imprisonment at the BSHCI.

 

It started with a hand around a wrist as they sank to the floor of the Atlantic. With burning lungs they kicked and fought their way to the surface, both loudly inhaling new life with a roar. The hand had slipped away so they could swim independently, broken though they were, to the rocky shore.

Will had managed to pull himself free of the water first, though just barely. Knees buckling he turned to find Hannibal limping behind him, his arm cradling the bullet wound in his abdomen. Will reached for him just before his legs gave out and he fell on his back on the wet sand. The arm he’d extended was now laying limp at his side.

Before he lost consciousness, he felt the warmth of Hannibal’s body at this side, his fingers reaching out to find the grip he’d missed moments before.

**

It continued as their bodies slowly healed from their injuries. They’d managed their way to an old, broken motel and set about tending to their wounds. Silently Will had followed Hannibal into the damp bathroom - cheap paint cracking on the walls - and pressed against his body as they peeled the clothes off each other like a wet layer of skin.

Will’s hand gripped at Hannibal’s elbow and refused to budge as Hannibal tried to pull the ruined sweater over his head.

“Will,” he whispered, pressing his lips against his forehead. “You must let go.”

And he had. But the moment Hannibal had carefully stepped naked into the hot water of the shower, Will had followed and grabbed at his arm. They stood under the stream, bodies pressed tight together. The sound of the water thundered in their ears. Hannibal pulled an arm up and around Will’s back, dipping his head down slightly to rest his cheek on his shoulder.

**

In the days that followed they seemed incapable of preforming any action without the other; the two of them in a soft and gentle sync. After a long time on the road (and with the aid of several stolen cars) they made it to a small cabin in the woods of northern Maine, one of many nondescript and completely isolated homes that Hannibal owned throughout the world. There was a small living room furnished only with a chair, couch, and a wood burning furnace, and an even smaller kitchen and bathroom. The bedroom was comprised of a single full bed and a small table.

There was no electricity or hot water, though there was a small lake nearby. 

As night came, Hannibal brought a large pot of water to a boil and poured it into the cold water he’d already filled the tub with, pausing and checking the temperature before it was to his liking. After he’d boiled another small pot, he’d went back to the bathroom with Will at his heels. 

They stripped down and carefully stepped into the tub that was in no way made for two adults to share. The weight of their bodies made the water rise just to the top of the tub as they sat opposite one another, each with one leg bent up to better accommodate the other. They soaked and cleaned, carefully tending to their injuries as the water slowly cooled. As Will’s fingers played with the sore skin on his cheek, Hannibal placed a limp hand on his propped up knee. 

“What do we do now?” Will asked. 

The fingers on his knee flexed.

“We will recover,” Hannibal answered. “And then we will keep moving.”

The water sloshed around them as they climbed out of the tub, Will going first and then helping Hannibal rise as he struggled with the wound on his abdomen. They dried off and applied new bandages before moving back to the bedroom. The light from the large candle on the bedside table bounced off the wood of the walls as they they dressed lightly for bed - Will wearing a pair of briefs and sweatpants Hannibal offered him from his sparse collection before he did the same.

They climbed into the bed, Hannibal reaching to extinguish the candle between a pinch of his fingers before he pulled himself close to Will, resting his head on his chest and laying an arm across his torso, fingers curled into his skin. Will dipped his head down slightly so that his nose grazed Hannibal’s still damp hair as they fell asleep. 

**

After a few weeks, their constant need to be around and touch one another calmed though only sightly. Now holed up in another small but more modern cabin outside of Nova Scotia, Will had returned from fishing just as Hannibal was preparing to place a pan of sweet potatoes in the oven. 

He looked at the salmon slung over Will’s shoulder as he took his muddy boots off by the door. 

“Fruitful,” he said. 

“Yeah, I did alright.” 

Leaving his pole against the wall, Will dropped the fish on the counter which had be lined with newspapers in anticipation. He watched as Hannibal rolled up his sleeves and prepared to cut into them. The long scars on Hannibal’s wrists had faded with time but whenever Will caught a glimpse of them he felt a gentle surge run through this body.

“What do you think about when you look at your wrists?”

Hannibal finished running the knife up the belly of the fish and reached inside, twisting his grip as he pulled the innards out. 

“I think about you,” he said. “I think about the power you must have felt, the satisfaction.” 

He moved on to the second salmon, running his knife into it the same as he’d done with the first. 

“What about your other scars?” Will asked, his tongue playing with the rough skin of his cheek. “What do you think about when you see the scar Jack left on your cheek? Or the brand on your back?”

There was a squish of guts as Hannibal disemboweled the second fish, his hands shiny with gore.

“I think about you,” he said. “The scar on my face reminds of not being with you and -  ” 

He paused.

“Of the mistakes I’ve made.”

Will stepped closer to him as he spoke.

“The mark on my back reminds me of losing you again,” he continued. “Of skinning Cordell’s face and taking you home. Of turning myself into Jack.”

“Do you ever regret that?” Will asked. “Turning yourself in? Going into the hospital for three years?’

“Never,” Hannibal said, dropping the knife on the counter and facing Will as he rubbed his hands on the apron tied at this waist. “It was necessary.”

“For what? For me?”

“Of course.” 

Will reached out and grasped one if his fingers, sticky with residue. He stepped closer until they stood only inches apart.

  
“What if I never came?” he asked. “What if I’d stayed away and never saw you again? Would you have regretted it then?”

Hannibal pulled his fingers away so that he could fully grip Will’s hand, squeezing it.

“No,” he said. “A free life without you in it had long lost its appeal.”

Will had thought of Hannibal’s imprisonment often, both during and more recently as they’d shared these months together. For three years, Hannibal was alone in that small cell with only his books to keep him company and his memory palace to retreat to. He thought about that each night as Hannibal would sleep against his chest, his ear pressed to his heart; how starved for touch he must have been, how utterly lonely.

Reaching out with his other hand, Will grabbed Hannibal’s free arm and pulled it up to his mouth, lightly kissing the scar there before he let it fall and pushed his body against his, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and burying his face in the crook of his neck. Hannibal’s hands came down to rest on the small of his back. The smell of fish would be permeating off of Will and into Hannibal but if the older man cared, he didn’t show it.

Moving one hand from his back, Hannibal slid his arm up Will’s body until it wrapped around the nape of his neck, fingers just barely breaking into his hairline. His lips pressed into Will’s forehead, the arch under his left eye, and the scar tissue on his right cheek. 

Will shifted his head slightly and met Hannibal’s lips with his own. It was careful and chaste but left them both feeling warm and full, like two men dizzy with the taste of red wine.


End file.
